Ghost Armor

An essential quality for any transmigrator: finishing off the enemy and looting the corpse.

Anton had done neither.

Except for the first time, when he'd hastily stuffed the Old Wizard into the box, he hadn't touched him afterward. Even this time, when he took him out, he'd used a long hook to drag him out.

He knew there were bound to be treasures in the pockets of the Old Wizard's Wizarding Robes, but he wouldn't go near them. Not even once.

This, too, was something he'd learned from the Old Wizard.

Even when looting a corpse for an item he wanted, the Old Wizard had been as cautious as could be. Sometimes, he'd even make a student do it instead.

Anton remembered when only two of the Old Wizard's apprentices were left alive. He'd casually pointed to the chubbier one between Anton and another little fat boy, picking the one with the bigger appetite.

The poor kid searched the body and was fine. That night, he even cried, feeling like he'd gotten his life back.

Then, on the third night, a head sprouted from his shoulder—the head of the old Witch who'd already died.

Countless strange and uncanny Charms had been passed down from the age of the Ancient Wizards. By today's standards, almost all of them would be classified as Dark Magic.

These bizarre Charms might not seem like much to Snape, McGonagall, and the others, who came from the academic world. But beyond the academies, in the shadowy places beyond the Ministry of Magic's reach, they continued to kill people in droves.

This was what the wizarding vagrants at the bottom called the land of chaos.

The more people learned, the further they strayed. The further they strayed, the more they wanted to investigate. Sometimes, they'd be right in the middle of their research when they simply disappeared.

Seeing that things were going badly, Anton swung onto his Flying Broomstick and flew away as fast as he could.

Flying through the open sky, with nothing to obstruct him and no need to worry about crashing into anything, he was able to relax and glance back.

What he saw nearly scared the soul out of him.

In the distance, from the dark green glow of the magical formation, a figure drifted out.

It was the Old Wizard!

Unlike before, his body was deathly pale, as if its color had faded away, and half-transparent.

His tattered Wizarding Robes stirred without a breeze, and the head in his arms stared fixedly at Anton!

Before long, the Old Wizard drifted up to the little house in the sky.

The little house underwent a miraculous transformation.

The walls, haphazardly pieced together from Wooden Planks and rusty Iron Plates, split apart and flapped like the wings of a giant bird.

After a few flaps, it really did take flight.

"What the hell!" Anton cried in shock. Hugging the Flying Broomstick, he crouched low. He found that this reduced the resistance of the wind and made the broom fly faster.

The little house was incredibly fast!

It was even faster than the Flying Broomstick!

Fortunately, the thing didn't seem able to fly very far. After a certain distance, it had to drop to the ground before taking off again.

And so, the chase continued through the depths of the forest.

The Flying Broomstick's top speed was fixed. No matter how hard he pushed it, that was as fast as it could go. Its speed didn't depend on the wizard's Magical Power.

Anton was especially grateful that he'd had the foresight to get the broom earlier. Without it, he'd probably be dead tonight.

But he couldn't keep up this chase forever.

The little house, flying like a bird, seemed tireless, but Anton was starting to feel exhausted.

The Flying Broomstick had only an invisible cushion of air for a seat. He still had to grip the broomstick shaft tightly with both hands to support himself.

On top of that, the gale from their high-speed flight battered his face.

Anton felt completely numb.

An hour had passed!

He'd been flying for a whole hour!

And it was still right on his tail!

"Think you can outlast me?" Anton's expression hardened. Patience was the one thing he had plenty of.

The more things came down to this, the less he could afford to rush!

His only way to fight back was to draw his Wand and cast a Charm. But whether he used the Soul-Transferring Charm or the Displacement Soul Curse, and whether they worked or not, casting a Charm beyond his abilities would leave him utterly drained.

He might fall off the Flying Broomstick.

That wasn't a wise choice!

As big as Britain was, it was still only an island.

He didn't need to fly until the end of time. Once he reached the sea, he'd have a hundred ways to wreck this thing, which needed to land to keep going!

As it turned out, with enough patience, a chance would always present itself!

At a mining site for some unknown mineral, the little house dropped down, then got stuck when it tried to rise again because of the terrain. A large patch of its Wooden Planks was torn away.

The floorboards from the first story clattered down to the ground.

Anton's eyes lit up.

He'd found his chance!

He turned his Flying Broomstick and began to curve around. The little house stayed hot on his heels, and this time they were even closer.

But it was a price he had to pay.

Anton dipped low and sent the Flying Broomstick diving toward the mining site.

Just before he reached the ground, he jerked the broom upward and climbed back into the sky.

The enormous little house behind him wasn't nearly as nimble.

With a loud crash, it scraped against the ground with a piercing shriek.

Half of its body smashed into the ground and shattered.

The little house still doggedly pursued him.

"Haha!" Anton shot into the sky, feeling the pressure in his chest lift completely. He let out a wild howl. "This is so thrilling! It feels amazing!"

He dipped low again and dived!

He kept circling with the little house, exploiting the terrain like a map bug.

At last, the crooked little house crashed into the edge of a mine and shattered completely.

The dark green strands that formed the magical formation flickered once, then broke apart entirely.

"No!" the Old Wizard wailed. "My armor! My armor!"

He floated up and rushed toward the ruins again, but it was as if he were made of matter from another dimension. He passed straight through them.

The Old Wizard continued to drift back and forth above them, unwilling to give up.

Anton hovered in midair on his Flying Broomstick, watching him coldly.

"A Ghost!"

At last, he understood what this thing was.

There were plenty of these beings in Hogwarts Castle.

If the things he remembered weren't just fanfiction, Ghosts existed in a state between life and death. After dying, a wizard could choose to remain in the world of the living or enter the realm of the dead.

Apart from those with especially strong attachments, no one generally chose to remain here after death, trapped in the awkward state of being rejected by both the living and the dead.

Ghosts weren't even a form of life. They were merely traces left behind by the living, imitating the state of life.

Apart from giving off a chill when touched, they couldn't affect anything in the world.

Ambitious figures like Grindelwald and Voldemort would never consider making beings like these their followers.

Yet now, a remarkable sight had appeared before Anton's eyes.

Using the magic of "dark green, threadlike cracks" that he'd developed himself, the Old Wizard had somehow managed, while still alive, to create a suit of armor that a Ghost could control.

In certain fields, there were always brilliant people who astonished the world, like that master of the Memory Charm.

They might lack strength overall, but they still managed to stay ahead of everyone else in certain fields.

"Impressive." Even though he loathed, even hated, the Old Wizard, Anton couldn't help but voice his admiration.

He suddenly realized that the materials he'd stored in his Gringotts Vault might really be incredibly valuable!

Now that the Old Wizard was no longer a threat, he could go and seek out a new life.

So long!

He raised his arm slightly. The Flying Broomstick spun around in midair and flew off into the distance.